


On the Wings of an Angel

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon - TV, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Season/Series 03, Tattoos, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-03
Updated: 2009-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a plan...that doesn't involve sex. Pre-occupation New Caprica fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Wings of an Angel

She had to keep up her strength, and after spraining her ankle on a run around New Caprica City (damn hard lumpy ground) anything fully aerobic like that was out of the question. So she wheedled some equipment from Helo up on Galactica, and now Sam stood with the punching pads, moving each target once she hit it.

Her reflexes weren’t lost yet, and neither was her strength. She liked watching Sam flex his muscles to prepare for her strikes—even in the shaded light of their tent, where the cool and the shadows took away her favorite sweaty glow, it was almost as good as when they played pyramid. Mm, pyramid.

She missed a strike, punching past the pad on his hand. “Frak,” she muttered, and glared slightly.

“Distracted?”

“As if you didn’t notice,” she snorted at him, readjusting her stance. “Punching bags aren’t supposed to be sneaky, you know.”

“Mm, ‘m not your punching bag,” he answered, drawing a pad away at the last second to swipe at her face. It was just slow enough for her to bat it out of the way easily, but she hadn’t been expecting it either.

“You sure?” she answered, flicking her eyes daringly up at his for a second, then back to the targets. “You’re prettier, granted, but not that difficult—I know all your soft spots, Sam.” She exaggerated the words, leaving the door wide open.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him smile and nod. “Uh-huh, right. You got it, honey.” The words were so understated that the teasing bled right through.

“What, is that your plan?” she asked, a skeptic smirk hiding at the corner of her mouth. “You think you have a plan, Sammy?”

Her shot to the right was a little harder than usual, and so when the target suddenly wasn’t there she almost fell forward a little. The almost part of it didn’t matter, though, because suddenly Sam was in her space. His arm scooped up under hers, his body twisting, and in one smooth move she was flipped over him in a perfect hip-throw, landing with a soft whoosh on their bed.

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan,” he said with a dance of his eyebrows.

Half of her breath knocked out of her from the landing, her smile broadened and she said with a hint of breathlessness, “So do I—sex. Now. Here.”

He paused, his arm still around her back from where he’d supported her during the throw, his chest only inches away from hers. Then, with his free hand, he bopped her on the nose with the punching pad. “Nope.”

He let her go, standing up and taking off the pads with the same self-confident lightness that had been in his tone.

“Nope?” Her own tone was slightly incredulous as she sat up on the bed.

“’m not your sex toy either,” he said, managing to put the finishing flourish on the banter in a way that she couldn’t respond to without changing tactics.

She scooted off the bed. “Sam,” she said, running her fingers up his arm to the back of his neck. “Come on, it’s fun.”

“It’s not my whole plan, either,” he answered.

She laughed. “Yeah, like that plan actually exists,” she teased. “I know you, Sam.”

“Then you’d know that, as hot as you are when glaring through my hands as you punch them, I am interested in other fun things in life than frakking.” He tossed a glance back over his shoulder, eyes light.

“Pyramid,” she suggested, unable to hide her smirk at the mention of their favorite foreplay. Sex in the alluvial deposits wasn’t the best, but no one had thought to set up the pyramid court over a mattress.

“Nah, only just got all the sand out of there,” Sam said, catching her drift better than she expected.

“Triad?”

“Fun with clothes on,” he amended.

She hadn’t said ‘strip’, she knew it. Of course, she didn’t have to with Sam, really. “Well, you’d better not mean work, and it’s too early for you to suggest drinking...”

“Tattoos,” he said.

She paused. “Yeah, what about ‘em?”

“Up for another one?” he asked, eyebrows raised in expectation of her answer.

“Why?”

He nodded over to the pad of paper on her easel, haphazardly leaning against the corner. “You remember those wings you were drawing?”

She gave him a look. “Sam, you don’t make tattoos out of impressionistic smudges.”

“Yeah, I know that,” he said, returning her look. “But you know, if we drew it out, added a bit here and there...”

She thought, remembering what she’d painted. “It’d be a pretty damn awesome design,” she admitted.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to hide the hint of a grin. “And I was thinking, you get one wing, I get one wing...” One eyebrow still stayed raised, waiting her response.

“Hmm.” Kara’s brow furrowed, and she walked over to the paper, ripping off the relevant sheet and eyeing it. “Maybe,” she said, grabbing a pen and spreading the paper on the bed. She added a pivot at the bottom of the wings, essentially turning them into two. She frowned, then scribbled some details over the thin paint, sending the black lines up in sweeps to make streamlined feathers.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sam said, taking the seat opposite her. “Wings are bit generic, though, so I was thinking, a little memorial of where we came from.” He grabbed a pencil, putting in the symbol for Caprica duplicated on either side of the pivot.

Kara could see it in her mind now, and she nodded and hmmed to herself as she continued to add a few more details. “Didn’t know you had a mind for this,” she commented.

“Well, we both know we’re just two sides of the same two-head coin,” he said, grinning at her across the paper that now held the first design of the tattoo. “So why not show it?”

“Matching tattoos...” Kara said, letting the thought linger for a second in her mind. Then her grin flared up again, playful and evil all at once. “Yes, we are that special.”

“No doubt,” Sam answered.

“Okay, this is fun,” Kara admitted. She added with a tip of her head. “And I guess I shouldn’t call you a punching bag if we’re going to match.”

“I don’t know,” Sam hedged unseriously, “by the time these are done being inked, we might want to be unfeeling punching bags...”

Kara snickered. Tattoos were a glorious kind of pain, but in the moment they required stamina and lots of alcohol. “That’s the challenge then, prove our furniture status once and for all.”

“Once and for all,” Sam agreed. He paused. “I’m feeling pretty good, baby, but you’re looking a little...stuffed...don’t you think?”

The words were so exaggeratedly baiting, it almost wasn’t funny. She gave him a hairy eyeball, then a snicker escaped, and she leaned across the paper to smack a quick kiss on his mouth. “No, these’ll be a proper warning to others once they’re done.”

She gathered up the paper. “Where is the nearest tattoo artist anyway?” she muttered, walking toward the tent door.

“Who knows?” Sam shrugged, slipping an around her waist as they exited their tent, heading down the street. “That’s the fun, no?”

“My kind of man,” she murmured, design in one hand, other arm mirroring his to rest snugly across his lower back.

As they always would be—mirrors. She didn’t have to say it for him to know that they matched, almost too well. Almost was a good word.


End file.
